Divine Paths
by Winged Lady Colette
Summary: Destiny intertwined their fates, bringing Fen'Harel to Westeros to assist the dragon/wolf prince and his family.
1. The Dread Wolf and the DragonWolf Prince

**Author's Note: I'm sorry, I know I need to stop writing new stories, but I am in love with this idea! I hope you all are too. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

**Warnings: Talk of death, language, OOCness and Unbeta'd.**

**Word Count: 4,231**

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he awoke in his temple within the Fade. The first thing that he felt was the pressure of magic swilling around his head and through the very fiber of his being. He feels the magic like electricity coursing through his veins as it awoke with him. He feels through the flow of magic for the Evanuris, the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones trapped in his illusion, a slumber designed for them to never awaken from. He feels their collective consciousness brush back against his in mechanical reaction to his presence.

They don't otherwise react. They still slumber peacefully. Well, as peacefully as they can in the Beyond, locked in a state of never being. They can feel time passing them by, but they can't experience it in a way that life does. Kind of like what Solas did to himself within the Fade. Being their, funneling his power into the prison of the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones was a prison in its own making. But he can feel them now, and they still exist in a state of never being. He doesn't feel them stirring as he had.

No matter the power that he has flowing through him and pulsating like a drum in the space around him it feels separate from him. It doesn't feel like his own magic, but the magic within the Fade itself. In fact, if he looks internally, he feels significantly weaker now than he remembers. Over time his power has waned while he slept. Maybe the drastic drain of his energy and the fact that he's almost out of magic is what finally awoke him from his slumber.

That, or there was such a dramatic shift within the Fade that it was enough to rouse him. He's not sure. But he can feel this strange shiver through the Fade and has to surmise that being what awoke him.

The next thing he registers is this searing pain. Pain in his head, in his back, neck, hips, and legs from sitting in one position for so long. He's not sure how long, as it's difficult to tell time within the Fade, but it's long enough for his muscles to shriek in protest once he finally starts moving. Everything hurts bad and he has to be gentle about laying back on the concrete floor of his temple. He hisses in pain before forcing his muscles to relax and stop protesting as bad as they are.

He opens his eyes after a long time to see the large door he sat in front of what could quite possibly have been forever ago. Once more, he's not sure how much time has passed since he locked the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones away. But the large, ornate door scribbled with the story of the ancient story of The Elven Empire and the fall of their Pantheon.

Solas remembers it well. Locking them away and then sitting down in front of the door, using all of his power to seal the door and lock them in the Beyond forever. It used so much of his strength he meditated, trying to regain his power when he must have fallen into some form of magical coma. His power just kept funneling into the curse he cast on the door until now. His magic was acting like a battery for the curse.

With the power he can feel coursing through it, ten thousand years will pass before the magic starts to wane and the curse loses its power. Solas won't let that happen. He will come back and supercharge the curse again and again and again if he has to. Until the end of time. He won't let them escape. He won't set them free or allow them to walk the world again.

But he has to get away from here. At least for a bit. Stretch out his legs and replenish his magical supplies. His curse is feeding on his magic by proximity. He needs to put some distance between them. He woke up as his body's natural defense kicked in. He doesn't have enough power to sustain the seal any longer than he has at the moment. It is killing him.

Yet not fast enough to warrant the type of haste that he needs to push his aching body into motion. He reaches down toward his lap, fingers wrapping around the familiar circular metal of his orb. The magical foci of his power. He can feel slivers of magic slithering out over his hand, but it's locked shut now. Somehow, over the years, his orb has sealed shut while he slept. That's probably part of the reason his magical strength waned over time. Without his orb helping focus his power it steadily began to lose power until it was almost gone.

It just goes to show, perhaps real gods wouldn't have had this problem. But they aren't real gods. They never were. But Solas is just as capable of making mistakes as anyone else. He just wished the others would have been able to see that. Things could have been different if they did. Maybe even better. But unfortunately there is no way to know that and what's done is done.

Finally, he builds up the strength to sit up and then push to his feet. It hurts, and his body screams at every movement, but he keeps pushing forward. His long brown hair falls over his shoulders, the braids long since fell apart from what could only have been a significant amount of time between when he fell asleep and now. The braids have since unraveled. At least mostly. He can only imagine how he looks.

He reaches down and scoops up his wolf's pelt, bringing it up and over his shoulders and raising the skull up to rest over his forehead. He reattaches his orb to the pouch on his waist. It was good that he thought to magically enhance his personal effects before all of this, and wished that he had thought to do so with even his hair ties, as silly as it sounds. But it is a good insight into the time that has passed. Sort of. Enough time for his hair ties to have disintegrated within the Fade where time is impossibly fast and slow.

He walks toward the entrance, pausing once more only to grab his staff before descending the stairs and out the front of his temple, only to stop in surprise. This isn't where he had originally built his temple.

He was in a city, obviously in a different life it's beauty and splendor would be unmatched by anything in the world. There are no words to describe it's majesty. The architecture, the cityscape, everything about it is absolutely breath-taking. Except for one thing; it's a dead city. It looked to have been at one point a beacon within theFade, but something has tainted it black and the streets are now filled with the harrowing whispers of those that once lived here. The city is run now by demons and evil spirits.

In the center of the city lies a palace almost as large as the city alone. He looks at the dramatic arches and high pillars even from this distance, the sheer blackness of it stands out against the green background of the Fade. It gives the castle a more... ominous feeling. Solas can feel the magic here has become harsh and angry, calling out like a seductive siren into the Fade, bidding unruly spirits to come and feed into the chaos brewing in this city. Solas can hear the mournful cries of the spirits here that were twisted by this place.

The blackness is like a poison that slithers beneath the layers of the Fade. Solas steps off of the last step leading to his temple and onto the street, feeling the darkness lick against the pads of his bare feet. He sends an electric shock through his feet and the darkness pulls back, sending evil snarls into the Fade before pulling away from him.

Solas frowns, not liking this one bit.

Within the whispers of anger and rage, he can see a golden light. A purity and wonder that used to permeate this city. Looking down at the road itself, he sees what can only be footprints that lead to the castle made up of the chaos. Or perhaps they are somehow the epicenter of it. Or maybe the cause of it.

His curiosity has always been his strongest and weakest point. Once his attention has been captured, he finds it hard to shake the feeling until he's satisfied. Something happened to this city - this wonderful and beautiful city - that somehow turned it black. The further he walks into the city, the more flashes of this once brilliant golden city reveals itself. Some of the spirits here are old enough to remember what the city once was, and they project the image into the Fade for those keen enough, or observant enough like Solas, can see it.

The closer to the castle that he gets, the sharper the darkness is, but there is something else, beneath even that. Solas can hear something that sounds a lot like the crying of a child. He pauses walking through the street to close his eyes and listen closer. The sound sounds so far away but it pulsates through the Fade. For half a second Solas wondered if it was a demon trying to catch unsuspecting passer-byes - one can never be too safe, especially in the Fade - but as quickly as the thought came to him, it also left him.

No, he didn't think it was a demon, but those cries could definitely attract one. If Solas had to guess, it might just be a dreamer. A very young, but very powerful dreamer.

Solas starts moving again, following the sound of the crying until it leads him to the palace. He stops when he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He feels a predator watching him and he goes back in time to when he was a young boy sent out on his own from his village to prove he was a man. His Rite of Passage was to hunt a hunter and kill it before it killed him. The trick was that he couldn't use his magic. He was supposed to use his sheer force of will, intellect, and instinct to protect himself.

Unfortunately for Solas, his hunter was a wolf that had realized what he was and took to hunting him right back. Solas spent three weeks out in the forest fighting this wolf off and trying to get the better of it. He remembers the anxiety and pain. He remembers the sleepless nights and the fear. He remembers jumping and scrambling away from any sound around him. He remembers feeling like he couldn't breathe as every negative thought about the wolf closing in on him pounded him harder than the ice cold rain that perpetuated those three weeks ever could.

Solas remembers at one point changing his very view on how to approach this situation. He remembers that when he stopped being afraid and changed his entire mindset, he found himself standing over the body of his hunter, thin and starved but alive.

He remembers those moments well, even after so long. In honor of that wolf that taught him, he keeps its pelt, skull, and lower jaw. He will never forget the lessons the hunter taught him.

Especially when he knows the feeling of being hunted.

Hunted by a wolf.

Solas turns, looking out over the city with pretty blue eyes, catching a swift movement through the streets. Some kind of large black wolf, it looks like, darting between buildings. She scares away the other spirits. Solas can hear her howl in the distance, shaking the Fade with her power. Solas tilts his head slightly, recognizing the call. She seems to be calling to her mate. Another wolf spirit wondering in the city?

The response was definitely not that of a wolf. The roar that followed made the spirits within the Fade scatter to the winds The very fabric of this city shiver and shake, struggling to hold itself together despite the dilapidated look of the city now. If Solas thought he was on alert before, he's downright rigid and tense now. That sounded like it came from within the castle. And it sounded huge.

The crying catches his attention again, still within the castle. Solas hesitates, wondering if this was smart. The wolf spirit and whatever her mate was hasn't been entirely threatening. But he did sense the warning from her in the Fade. Her child is inside, and she's warning him about getting too close. And her mater, whatever he was, is inside as well.

It gives Solas pause, wondering if the warning wasn't necessary for him, but for the demons and negative spirits. But he would be careful. Those cries sounded... well, not like a wolf. They sound like a small child.

Solas turns, gripping his staff tightly as he walks into the castle.

The cries lead him to the throne room. On the far side of the room was a throne five times larger than any sort of throne Solas had ever seen. Whatever once sat upon it was a lot larger than he, or the tiny child sitting in front of it. Solas approaches slowly, keeping his eyes open for the wolf's mate but he doesn't see anything. He does, though, sense him.

The vale fire torches that line the hall flicker and dance about to the child's cries. Solas looks at the small child partially hidden in the darkness of the throne room. He walks closer until he's a few steps away, able to see the child perfectly with his enhanced eyes.

The child was human if his round ears were anything to go by, and while Solas isn't an expert on humans, but the child looked like he was probably two or three years old. His head is covered in long, curly black hair that stands out against his pale white skin. He looks up at Solas as he approaches and pretty, yet watery, gray eyes stare back at him, and when Solas kneels down in front of the child, he spots even prettier purple rings in his eyes dancing off the light of the vale fire.

The little baby looks at him with wide, curious eyes, his cries that turned chubby little cheeks pink, slow to heavy whimpers and gasps for air. Solas sits down slowly onto the ground in front of the stairs the little boy was laying on. Solas will admit to the loud groan of pain and resistance from his muscles at the action. Walking is a lot easier than standing and sitting on the ground. Solas and the little human are near eye level now. The little baby sniffles, looking Solas up and down like he's never seen an elf before. Maybe he hasn't.

Solas reaches out slowly, pressing his hand onto the baby's pitch black hair, remembering how dark the wolf was, even in the darkness of the Fade. And the magic coming from the baby was immense. There was something powerful about him that couldn't easily be explained. Something special that Solas couldn't ignore.

"Hello, little one," Solas says softly, his voice rough and his throat hurting from not speaking for however long it's been since he last spoke. He gently pushes the curly strands out of the pink little face. "Why are you crying? Scared?"

The little baby sniffles, leaning into the touch as if starved for physical contact. Looking at him closer, Solas can see that he's sick. His face is so pale because it has no color. And the heat coming off of him is unnatural. He definitely has a high fever. No wonder the boy was crying so bad. Solas carefully pulls the boy into his arms, and cradles him close, using the bits of magic he has left to heal the boy.

This boy is a dreamer. Solas can tell. He's a rare being indeed. Something brought him here, and... well, this child needs him. He's not the most affectionate kind of person, but he's always been sensitive to children. Always had a special spot in his heart for them. They were innocent no matter who their parents were. It was one of the many things that he loved about children. They were pure and innocent.

Something rumbles in the darkness beyond the throne. Solas looks over the dark curls of the child's head to try and distinguish the shape shifting within it. He pets the child's hair down and stares into the darkness, feeling the power radiating off of whatever it is, even in the Fade. And whatever it is, it's massive. Solas watches as something moves again.

"You are the wolf's mate, aren't you?" Solas asks softly as the healing magic he is sending into the small child has eased his suffering.

The shape moves and something glitters in the darkness. Two bright purple orbs stare back at him from behind the throne. When he shifts, the orbs glow more and the shape becomes more clear to him. The vale flame catches the body of the beast perfectly and Solas recognizes what he sees is a dragon, massive in size with scales as white as freshly fallen snow and violet eyes, peak out at him.

Solas tilts his head a bit, mesmerized by a white dragon. He's never seen one like that. The wolf and the dragon had a human child? Unless... they were both human, but their souls are that of a dragon and a wolf. How very interesting. He's never met someone outside of the Elven Pantheon that's spirit took a different form other than their physical one. Especially humans.

How very interesting indeed.

The child wraps its arms around his neck and buries its face into Solas's neck.

"Is this your young?" Solas asks curiously, fascinated by the idea of what a human with the soul of a dragon and a human with the soul of a wolf would create. They are dead, Solas can tell that much, but their child is still alive. Here in the Fade, they protect him from the demons and the negative spirits. Their spirits are powerful enough that they retain their true form even in death.

The dragon tilts its head, letting out a low moan, sharp teeth larger than Solas's forearm glitter in the vale fire. There is a long moment of silence before the dragon starts to hum, this sounds like a beautiful lullaby in the Fade. The sniffles of his child decrease until it has stopped completely. The tension in Solas's body loosens until he's at peace. A healing tune. Solas knew that dragons held powerful magic, but he thought it was limited to elemental magic. They were so strong and their scales near impervious that he figured they wouldn't need healing magic.

Guess he was wrong.

A human with the soul of a dragon, huh?

A sound of nails scraping against the floor catches his attention. He looks toward the entrance to see the she-wolf walking into the room, her dark eyes glittering with the vale fire. She leisurely makes her way over to them, ears flickering toward her mate, listening to him sing as she makes her way toward her child. With Solas sitting on the ground she stands at least twice again as tall as him. She sits down in front of him and leans her nose into the back of her baby's head, breathing in his scent with a loving sigh.

She turns her dark eyes to Solas, curiously. The threatening warning he got from her earlier seems to have faded. Her dragon mate seems to have assuaged her worries. She licks the back of her baby's head, rumbling lovingly.

The wolf twice again as large as him, her dragon mate and the baby they share has made waking up very interesting, indeed.

* * *

Solas finds himself spending every night with the baby and his parents. They don't speak, not like people or spirits do. They seem to have forgotten how. Their animal instincts have taken over. They recognize each other, and their offspring. They spoke through the Fade with feelings. Not images or words. They were weary of Solas at first, but they knew that their child was in pain and no matter how much they tried to soothe him, it didn't work. Solas made him feel better and that was enough for them. How they came to this begotten city, Solas isn't sure, but he's been feeling stronger and stronger each day.

It was a bummer when he realized he wasn't strong enough to open his orb, but the baby made him feel less annoyed watching as he played with it, thinking it was a toy. He shouldn't be encouraging this behavior seeing as his orb was dangerous, but seeing as he didn't have the power necessary to open it, he knew a tiny human wouldn't be able to. Not yet, at least.

Time is strange in the Fade. It feels like moments between when the baby returned to the waking world and when he would come back to the Fade. Sometimes it would feel like years. Each time the baby would return to him, he would be a little bit different each time. He was aging, Solas realized, and that came with time. It flows differently in the Fade that he has no idea how long it has been since he first awakened in the Fade, or even when he went to sleep out in the waking world beyond the Veil.

Before Solas realized it, the babbling nonsense the boy would spew at him started to become coherent words. And eventually they were able to start having conversations and Solas realized what the child was a boy, and his name was Jon.

Solas liked Jon. He liked what Jon reminded him of. He reminded him of everything he fought for. Jon was good. Jon was pure and sweet and kind. Jon didn't see him as an Elf or as Fen'Harel. He saw him as Solas. It's been a long time since anyone has seen him as Solas. And he liked being Solas. After some time, Jon's parents stopped coming out into the open, something drew their attention away. Jon was so young when they stopped coming that he didn't really notice they were gone.

Honestly, for a long time, Solas figured that Jon thought that this was all a dream. That because he doesn't know how to control his powers that he wouldn't be able to tell when he went into the Fade and how real it all was. It was fine with Solas, though. Some things are better less unsaid. Or disbelieved.

When Jon was seven, he asked Solas to come to him. He was lonely and sad and wanted his friend. That surprised him, though, that Jon was able to accept that all of this was real. But maybe that's part of what made him special. He was able to believe with his whole heart. Solas was resistant at first, not sure how he would even find the boy, but the next time he saw him, Jon was able to tell him where he was.

"Westeros," He says, sitting down cross-legged in front of the dark-haired elf, "to the far North. My home is Winterfell." He reaches out and runs his hand over Solas's wolf pelt, that he had draped across his lap.

"I don't know, Jon," Solas says, looking up at the large throne, now knowing that it was the seat of the Maker and that they were in what was once called the Golden City - until Magisters of Tevinter tainted it. "Your home doesn't have elves. The last thing I need is to become a freakshow for your family."

Jon shakes his head. "You aren't. Your family too. I just want the two sides to meet." He looks down, ashamed for how he feels. "I'm sorry."

Solas reaches out and pets the mop of hair on the boy's head. "There is nothing to be sorry about, Jon. I'm not mad, and there isn't anything wrong with you wanting us to get along." Solas hesitates, staring at Jon for a long moment before saying, "If it means so much to you, I'll see what I can do." Never mind the fact that without his orb - which is still being a touch nut to crack - he's not sure how exactly to leave the Fade just yet. But he might have accumulated enough power to do so, but he hasn't tried it yet.

Jon's smile is bright and pretty, he reaches out and takes Solas's hand. "Really? You promise you'll try?"

Solas nods, bending to the whim of the little seven-year-old.


	2. Harsh Realities

**Author's Note: I am taking a lot of liberties messing with the timelines, so bare with me. I am not completely accurate, but I will try to be as much as I can for the sake of continuity but it's not going to be all the same. I love hearing what yall have to say! It really encourages me! In honor of the ending of the series of Game of Thrones last night I knew I had to update this! Let me know what you think! I am trying to not put a codex for the elvish, but use clues from the story, but let me know if I need to. Enjoy!**

**Warnings: talk of death, language, OOCness, unbeta'd.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

**Word Count: 7,085**

"What are you doing?" Jon asks, peaking over Solas's shoulder.

"Shh..." Solas shushes before finishing his spell and waving his hand for Jon to sit in front of him. The little boy obeys, crossing his legs and looking up at the brown haired elf with large gray eyes. Solas puts his hands just above Jon's head and casts the spell. Jon gasps loudly, hands shaking with excitement, watching as sparkling lights fall from Solas's hand and around the boy before vanishing.

"What did you do?"

Solas smiles, dropping his hands onto his lap and tilts his head, looking down at the little seven-year-old. "Just a protection spell, Jon. Just in case you need it. It's a one-off, alright? So be careful."

Jon smiles back at him, reaching out to run his hands over the coarse pelt of the wolf that Solas killed in his youth. "Will you have enough magic to be able to get to me soon?"

Solas reaches up and touches his hair, not looking forward to leaving the Fade and having to deal with the gross mess he's sure he's going to be. Thankfully some of the senses outside of magic are numbed. But it won't be out there. He just hopes he's not gross when he leaves. He feels gross, but that's from an extremely long amount of time between when he last bathed and now.

"Patients, _Da'len_," Solas says softly. "I still need to find my way out of the Fade. I know based on what you have shown me that our homelands are not the same. I have to be careful about where I exit or I may fall into the ocean. I have to leave somewhere I know and then make my way to you. It'll take some time. First I have to exit the Fade without damaging the Veil and undoing my work."

Jon sighs, looking sad, having only half listened to the old elf. "I want you to meet my brothers and sisters."

Ah yes. Jon's brothers and sisters. Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Bran being a newborn baby that Jon wanted Solas so badly to meet. And Robb was his best friend and he "knew that Solas was going to like him too". Sansa and he got along alright, but being a little girl had little for them to talk about but little baby Arya was Jon's true joy in life. She was about a year now and he loved her so much. Solas knows the day by day life of Arya Stark thanks to a doting Jon.

A moment of silence, then, "Solas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you like the cold?"

Solas stares up at the throne again, curiously. "Not particularly, no." A pause, then he looks down at the seven-year-old, frowning. "Why?"

Jon shrugs. "Um, no reason."

Seeing as Jon's home was called Winterfell, Solas has a sneaking suspicion as to what made the boy curious enough to ask. It's true, Solas isn't overly fond of the cold, but he would deal with it if it meant that he would be able to be with Jon. There was elemental magic that Solas could use to keep him warm and he's sure that he'll be able to figure his way there. He appreciates that Jon at least thought to ask to be considerate of Solas's feelings in regards to the cold, but he probably wasn't completely forthright for fear that it would change Solas's mind about coming to meet him. Unfortunately for both of them, little can dissuade Solas once he's become set on it.

He hasn't seen Jon's parents in a while, but he does feel them sometimes. The come back to check on Jon but don't stay long enough to be spotted. They have become quite knowledgeable of the pathways within the Fade. No doubt the spirits are being courteous and careful around a powerful dragon spirit. It would be next to impossible to tell the difference between a real dragon and a human whose spirit is a dragon. If Solas hadn't used his context clues, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference either.

But alas, despite how he may feel about the cold, he's hyped himself up to follow through with his decision. He will go to Winterfell, to Jon, as he promised. He won't get the boy too excited just yet. He's not sure how long it will take, but when he exits the Fade, he will find his way to the half dragon, half wolf boy trapped in a human form. Wherever he is in the world.

* * *

Still unable to unlock his orb, Solas managed to use his own gathered power to rip open a part of the Veil and exit through it before sealing it closed again without any demons managing to sneak their way out. Thankfully enough. He made sure to check in on his temple before he left, fueling whatever energy he felt he could spare into the curse until the next time he can come back. He left the Fade worried about his prisoners, but knew that he could sit there and fret forever, so he set to leave his favorite place in all the world. The Fade.

But it left Solas exhausted and annoyed. Such things shouldn't tire him as easily as it does. He should be stronger than that - he is stronger than that, it's just taking him longer than he would have hoped to be able to return to his former glory. He hadn't realized how dependent he had become on his orb until he no longer had access to it. The magical instrument that was the foci for his power is useless to him as it is now. Or, as he is.

He knew he had a few options with that. He could use another powerful mage and have them open his orb, although without proper preparation for it, the opening of the orb would no doubt result in a catastrophic explosion, no doubt killing the person who opened it - and anyone within the general vicinity.

Or, he could rely on his own power for now and keep building up his strength and prepare for when he is able to open the orb himself. And he's not certain he knows how long that is going to take, or if he's willing to wait that long. He hates how dependent he is on his orb, but he feels naked without it. He feels better knowing that if he needed it, he had it to help. But then again, maybe it's for the best that he wean himself off his crutch now.

Or, maybe that's even more foolish.

Regardless, one way or another, he can do nothing about it now.

After a rest that was painfully longer than he cares to admit, he set out to find civilization. He tried not to think about where he came out of the Fade, but in his heart, he knew that it was his home once upon a time. The little village that he grew up in that happenchance been in the northern part of Thedas, was not nothing. So much time has passed and the forest has taken it back so wholly that hardly even ruins remain. His village was very poor compared to the great floating cities of the Elven Empire, and was hardly able to support any sort of super structures, but even so... he can't believe that so much time has passed that almost_ nothing_ remains now. And nothing stands out to him any longer.

It's probably been so long that no one but him probably even remembers that a village once sat here. It wasn't overtly large or densely populated, but they were known for their apparel and weapons crafting. Everyone in the village knew how to do it. Another one of those things, like the Rite he took as a boy. He wasn't particularly talented in the art, but he remembers the countless hours working to perfect the weapon or piece of clothing in hopes that his master would praise him and let him out early for the day. He would use that time to sneak away and find a place to lay his head and delve deep into the Fade, his true passion.

How shaken his former master must be to know that _Solas_, of all of his many apprentices, is probably the only person left in the world who knew his technique. Of all of his very talented and proud students, Solas is the one who probably carries his legacy now.

His master used to forge weapons for the great Elven Pantheon. In fact, his master was the one whom helped them create their foci - helped Solas create his own. He was the foremost prestigious smith in the world. His skill was unmatched and he was said to be the missing link of the Elven Pantheon, that at one point he stood as one of the great Generals-turned-Gods but left that life long ago to live as a simple smith focusing on his true passion: creating works of art. His specialty was enchanted weaponry and magical artifacts, but he also dabbled in the needle and thread, testing his mettle against fineries.

The clothing he made was never pretty, not works of art like his weapons or his artifacts, as he simply didn't have the eye for clothing, but the enchantments were always top notch and he never spared expense on the material. It's a shame that such talent is probably gone now.

And if it isn't, Solas doesn't have time to search through the world to see if anything remains. Jon is human and no doubt bound by a human lifespan. Even before Solas threw up the Veil humans only lived a blink of an eye for an elf. Solas has probably already slept away quite a few lifetimes, he's not going to sleep away Jon's. Or waste it looking into a art he wasn't interested enough in his childhood to study it truly and wholly from the master of it now.

Solas takes a moment to look about the near nonexistent ruin of his home village, almost completely devoured by the forestry and wildlife. If he didn't know exactly where he was, no one would ever think this was an ancient Elven village. They probably wouldn't think it was anything. They would think it was nothing but just another portion of the forest.

Maybe it is, now.

This is probably the one and only ruin that Solas will never sleep in again. He may have left his village when he was young and doesn't have a lot of fond memories here, but this was where he was born, where he began. A lot of the person he is today was forged here. Through the different Rites, through the people, through the connections and through the loneliness and disconnect. This place helped build him. But it's all seen through the eyes of a naïve, idiotic little boy with a narrow view of the world and how it should be.

The only reason he left his village was because the Fade could show him nothing more than what he's already seen because his perception was so limited and sight so short that he couldn't even see the world for how horrible it was. Especially to the people who lived in it. He didn't choose the path of Fen'Harel, it chose him. When he couldn't live with it any longer, he had to accept the choice that was made for him.

"_Dareth shiral_," Solas whispers to the spirits of his people and others that press against the Veil, echoing the words his master said to him, being the only one to see him off from the village from his second - and last - parting, while it was still a village after helping him forge his own foci, the orb he even now has strapped to his side faithfully. He hopes that the spirits of his former village mates are able to safely travel to the side of the Old Gods. May they have found peace.

This is it, the final goodbye. He won't come back here again. The pain in his chest... it's too much. He can't be here. Not anymore. No doubt the villagers were unfortunate victims in Solas's attempt to save the slaves and them from the false Gods. No doubt their deaths are on him. He wasn't overly close to anyone here, not even really his master, but it doesn't mean they deserved to die for someone else's mistake.

The treatment of the slaves was beyond deplorable but there were no slaves in his village - at least, not while he was here. They didn't deserve to die. Solas doesn't doubt that many innocent people died because of him. And now he has to live with it.

Slowly, steadily, he makes his way through the forest, away from the barely visible ruins of his old home village. He listens to the sounds of the twigs snapping beneath his feet as sun beats down on the back of his neck and warming his long brown hair, feeling the warm earth in the soles of his feet. He stops again after a few moments, whispering a prayer for the dead, hoping it will help them a thousand times more than it could ever help him, "_Falon'Din enasal enaste_."

He keeps moving. No matter the pain, or the exhaustion, he keeps walking, refusing to look back at the shadow of the village that he was born in. Trying to forget the feelings it brings him, and the whispers from beyond the Veil, and memory, of laughing children, yelling adults, magic spells being cast, calls of the peddlers, chides from mothers to their young, and the stark silence the comes into focus, realizing that none it is there any longer. Just noises from his memory and from the spirits that still dwell there, beyond the Veil. They want to tell the story of this place. But Solas doesn't want to know, not about here.

The only ruin he will never sleep in again.

So he keeps walking, refusing to look back at the childhood village he left behind so long ago. He can't go back, there is nothing waiting for him there, and he can't look back, because there is nothing to look back to. He just has to keep walking, moving forward. The past doesn't need him.

The future does.

* * *

Solas learned many things in his short time back in Thedas. He learned that approximately ten thousand years has passed since the fall of the Elven Empire. He learned about the enslavement of the elves, the rise of the humans in the Tevinter Imperium, Andraste and her holy war where she freed the elves and gave them the Dales, her eventual death at the hands of betrayal, the rise of the Chantry, the Tevinter Magisters that marched into the Fade and turned the Maker's Holy City black, and the Blight. All four of them.

Ancient dragons, considered Old Gods - but not to be mistaken for the Old Elven Gods, which are even older than that - that were once worshipped by the Tevinter Imperium were being used against the world as the generals of the darkspawn armies that ravage the Deeproads - the home of the dwarfs. It was all so much to take it, especially when he realized the fate of his people - mostly wandering nomadic clans calling themselves Dalish and _remembering the past entirely wrong. _They say that he was the monster who tricked the Gods and destroyed the Elven Empire... which isn't exactly untrue, but he did it to save everyone. Elves and slaves alike. Er, the other races.

Not to mention that those that don't adhere to the Dalish's laws or were somehow unfortunate enough to not be born within a clan are either called 'unmarked' or 'bare-faced' and scorned for it, or the... the vasalin marks on their faces are horribly warped. They wear the vasalin marks like a symbol of pride and the prospect of it makes Solas absolutely sick to his stomach. They don't understand what those marks truly mean, what they represent. They aren't something to be happy about. They are one of the many shameful things that Solas's people did to those beneath them.

And they don't seem to understand Solas when he tried to explain it to the Keepers of the clans he came across. They scorned him, looked down at him with their smoother faces, not as sharp as his, or as the elves of his time. He realized pretty quickly that unknowingly, a lot of theses elves, so proud of their elviness like it's a badge of honor, have human mixed into them. It's not a lot and to the untrained eye, they wouldn't have realized. But in most of the elves that Solas met, had human ancestors in one compacity or another.

None of them had features as sharp as his own or those of his own time. They were softer; wider eyes, plumper cheeks, the slightest curve to their nose, even his ears were larger and pointer than any other he had come across. They can't see it in themselves because the race has been evolving together, but none of them look as Solas does. He might just be the last pure blooded elf left in the world.

His people were now living pridefully while shackling themselves to the past. They strive for those days like a lifeline. Either they are monsters who wish to enslave the world once more and bring back the brutal, dark existence of the Elven Empire, or they are naïve, not understanding the past at all. Solas isn't sure which is worse. And when he tried to help them, no one wanted to listen. They didn't want him to wipe out the way they have been living for so long. And once more the elves refused to bend to reality, fancying the make believe world they love so much.

Solas did so much to try and free all of them from the reign of powerful mages that claimed to be Gods when now, all these years later, they want to go back to that time. They don't know that it wasn't the height of the Elven power. Not really. It was the height of power for the Evanuris, but that's it. The elven people were oppressed by the overwhelming power the would-be Gods had. They all struggled to escape from that horrible way of living, and the fact that they are thirsting for its return so ignorantly burns Solas in ways he won't be able to convey. They don't understand and they won't listen when he tries to educate them.

No one likes being told they're wrong, but they have to understand. If not for themselves, then for their children. For all the generations that come after them. They should want a better life for the future, not cling to old, archaic ways that were honestly the worst living conditions for everyone, except for the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones. They sat atop of the world and barely spared a glance down at everyone else unless it was to cause death and destruction upon them.

And Solas couldn't even swallow the reality of alienages.

This isn't what he wanted. This isn't what he sacrificed everything for. This was supposed to be for the betterment of everyone. Everyone was being held prisoner by the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones and yet this is...

Not only do the _Dalish _refuse to hear reason and see the Elven Empire for the corrupt, boiling cesspool that it was, but they would also turn their back on their own without a second thought. They would knowing allow their own people to live in filth, prejudice, and poverty. The Dalish ignore their own and yet those in the alienage wished they could be with the clans.

And Solas is sickened.

But it is amongst the destitute and down-trodden that Solas began his network once more. Any and all that wished to be part were welcome. Remnants of his old sect of agents existed, even to this day, the teaching being passed onto apprentices or children to keep it alive even after all this time. They went about their daily lives, all the while still on the look out for his return. They were able to get back to work in creating a fully formatted and functional network.

Or, they will. Soon enough.

Solas could leave Thedas knowing that he had eyes and ears on the look out for anything that he would find interesting. When he informed his people that he was going to leave Thedas in search of Winterfell, they went searching for information while he tried to adjust to life outside the Fade once more. The level of disconnect between the conscious minds of the people and the Fade was enough to make him even sicker with anger - at both the situation and himself for being the sole cause of it. The people were walking around as if their heads were in the clouds, unable to feel the Fade with their waking mind.

And mages, the topic all by itself sends him into a blind rage, he was so upset that he dry heaved until he calmed down. He had his agents, along with searching for more information on Winterfell, to get him texts or books on the last few thousand years so that he could busy himself with learning everything that he needed to. He might not be staying in Thedas for long, but he was hoping to one day come back.

Looking back on everything now, Solas knew that not everyone would be happy with him. A lot of people were content to live in servitude to the false Gods, simply because they didn't know any different, and they wouldn't thank him for what he did, but when he heard of the slaves calling his name Fen'Harel in anger and fear, and using it like a curse, he couldn't help the repeated stabbing pain in his chest.

He did it to save his people - and the slaves, by extension - and yet he was hated for it. It's a harsh reality to simply accept, but he knew that he would have to. Swallow back the pain and pray that he was right in believing it was for the best. So far, his people have suffered worse for his actions. But the slaves have managed to find themselves, so far that is the only light he sees in this entire situation. Never mind the fact that the humans have became the oppressors. He didn't expect a perfect world, but had wished for better than this.

But he can't dwell on this.

He had to leave Tevinter and while they were the most open and forthcoming to mages, seeing as their hierarchy was made up entirely of them, they were not so kind to elves. He was not going to become a slave to those that he saved from such a fate generations in the past. He wasn't going to doom his unfortunate legacy any more than he has. And the painful irony hasn't been lost to him. Those that he saved revile him for locking away those that oppressed them in the first place.

From the ports of Tevinter he found a sailor who would take him across the sea to Essos, but was kind enough to warn him that "knife-ears aren't seen anywhere outside of Thedas anymore, so turn back while you can." Solas entertained the idea while he was in the Fade with Jon that such a possibility may be reality - of how far the Elven Empire truly fell - but it was hard to hear that the once global spanning empire had collapsed so easily without the false Gods lording over them. It's a shame. He knew the empire was corrupt and twisted, but had hoped for a better future for his people.

Solas paid the warning no mind, certain that he would be able to look after himself even without his orb fully functional. Having never been on a ship before was certainly a trip he wasn't looking forward to again. The rocking of the sea made him so sick all he could do was hold onto the railings and watch the water push past not having the energy to even move in the slightest. He managed to survive the trip only eating crumbs and drinking as much water as he could to stay hydrated. The sailors were kind enough to laugh behind his back and not to his face, and were willing to leave him be through the duration of the trek.

The hardest part of the trip from the exit to the Fade to Essos, despite all the horrible news and harsh reality, was that he was all messed up in his sleep schedule. Every time since he finally left the Fade he hasn't been able to meet up with Jon. He's not sure if that's just because Jon's power - despite the training they have been having in the Fade - is drastically unrefined and he's still unable to control it, or the time is so far apart between Winterfell and Thedas and now Essos that their sleep schedules haven't lined up again since. It was easy to meet up with Jon when he was always in the Fade.

Jon has become his only happy reason to keep pushing on now. He misses Jon and hopes the boy is doing alright.

Crossing the Summer Sea and into Essosi territory meant sailing past Old Valyria which was equal parts fascinating, terrifying, and foreboding. Old, tainted magic radiated from there. They didn't sail too close, for fear of the "stonemen" that the crew were whispering about, but they did sail close enough that across the distance, over the sea, he can see peaks of volcanos, and ash that hangs like a dark cloud over the land now. Normal human eyes wouldn't be able to see, but Solas can see the darkness radiating off of it. That place is definitely cursed.

Solas listened to the crew whisper about it, thankful to have something to focus on other than his churning stomach. They spoke of a human empire that spanned the entirety of Essos and ruled for five thousand years before they were destroyed in an event called the Doom, when the thirteen volcanos that surround their home all erupted at once and killed all on Valyria at the time, effectively crumbling their empire over night. Kind of akin to the fate of the Elven Empire.

From the Summer Sea past Old Valyria and into Slaver's Bay, Solas called it quits on the boat. He had to get onto dry, solid land if he was going to be able to make it to Jon and his home of Winterfell. Once getting to Essos, it was easy to find out information about Westeros. It was also there that Solas was assaulted with a slew of new languages that he hadn't heard before. Well, aside from one.

Two; high and low Valyria spoken by the Masters and Slaves of the aptly named Slaver's Bay respectively. He hadn't known the languages but after a few days there, he was able to start picking up bits and pieces. He wasn't going to be fluent without proper time and practice, but having an idea of what they were saying was better than walking about blind.

The last was considered the common tongue of both Westeros and Essos. A language that he only heard from one before this. Jon. Unintentionally, in their attempts to communicate with one another, Jon had taught Solas the common tongue of his land. There were some similarities between the two versions of the common tongue from Essos and Westeros, and Thedas, enough that Solas thought that the language had simply just changed in the time from when he threw up the Veil and now, and it had changed, but it was a different dialect spoken by different people.

What an unintentional perk. He'll have to thank Jon later.

Solas was quick to leave Slaver's Bay, too. He knew dangerous men and dangerous stares when he saw them, and he was exotic to them. True to their word, Solas saw no other elves in his travels. Solas was cleaned up, hair redone and presentable, but he was definitely not dressed like the people of Thedas, and definitely not the people of Essos. He could tell in the way they watched him that he stood out to them. Especially with his loose dark pants, wolf pelt, belt criss-crossed over his chest, the accessories in his hair, the small skull band on his forehead and the lower jaw of the wolf he wears as a necklace.

He definitely must be a sight for the people. The heat of Essos reminded him of home, and he didn't mind having to remove the pelt for a while and carry it. He kept stealthy through the Dothraki Sea, able to avoid the Dothraki Khalasar so long as he was careful. He was able to witness a battle between two opposing Khalazar and watch with intrigue as the reigning Khal assimilated the defeated Khal's Khalasar into his own. He left when they started their celebrations, wishing that he could stay longer to observe, but he was wasting a lot of time admiring the world around him.

He could help it, though, whenever he would sleep, he would delve back into the Fade, first he would go to the Golden City to check on his Temple, then to the Castle to look for Jon, and then he would explore the Fade in the areas in which he sleeps. New, expansive places beyond even Thedas. It was a dream come true for Solas, but he knew he couldn't dally for long and once his body was rested, he would awaken and move on despite wanting to stay and see more.

Solas became acutely aware of how the days became weeks became months until he had to wonder if years had passed. He knew the trek would be a long one, but he hadn't prepared himself for how long. By the time he had finally made it to Pentos, he found no one who would cut his journey down like he had hoped. No one would take him to the only harbor in the North of Westeros, White Harbor. After much debate on what to do, either take a ship from Pentos and go to Gulltown and travel north from there, or go up to Braavos and chance that they have ships that go to White Harbor or not, Solas decided to take the risk. He was used to Essos at this point and would like to stay for a bit longer.

At this point he wasn't sure at all how much time had passed since he first left the Fade and hoped that Jon would remember him when they saw each other again.

So he headed north to Braavos, which was an experience all on it's own, where magic was especially strong there, with their Many-Faced God. Unfortunately, Solas managed to find a sailor heading for White Harbor but they were leaving immediately so he couldn't stay and explore more, like he wished that he could. But he knew he couldn't stay, who knew how long it would be until the next sailor was heading there to trade goods? No, he had to go.

A part of him had to admit that the reason he didn't sail from Pentos was because he didn't want to sail again. He hated it just as much the second time, but this time the Braavosi men were kinder to him, offering him medicine to make him feel better and commenting on his strange appearance with joyous laughs as they were a weird people themselves. The sail from Braavos to White Harbor was so much longer than it would have been from Pentos to Gulltown and Solas regretted every moment of it, but he just kept looking forward and tried hard not to think about the rock, rock, rocking of the boat.

Solas knew the trip from Braavos to White Harbor wasn't as long as it was from the port city in Tevinter to Slaver's Bay, but his stomach couldn't tell the difference and he felt just as bad the second time. The Braavosi men got a good laugh about it, wondering if he would get sea legs soon and while Solas honestly doubted it, he thanked the men, being the first onto the docks, much to their amusement, and set about on his way.

There wasn't any snow, like he expected, but it was cold. Cold enough that he was happy to have his wolf pelt slung over his shoulders again and not have to carry it around in his arms everywhere. Solas, reluctant to break down and wear shoes, he uses magic to keep the rest of him warm. Thankfully gold is universal and Solas was able to precure a more accurate map, this time of the North and splurged on an inn for the night to get some sleep. Still no connection with Jon, but that wouldn't matter, hopefully, as he would be seeing the boy in person soon.

There is great magic in the North, which surprised Solas. It was stagnant, coarse like the hairs of his wolf pelt against his skin, but it was there. The magic hasn't been rejuvenated in Westeros in a long time, but he could feel there was powerful magic collecting up further north. He wasn't sure if it was from Winterfell or not, but it was very powerful. And ominous.

The Northmen were able to tell he didn't belong the moment he stepped off the boat. The peddlers were kind enough for the sake of business, but everyone watched him, even moreso than they did in Essos. Which coming to see now, Northerners of Westeros seem like very practical, blunt people and they can spot something out of the ordinary a mile and a half away. And when he asked for a map of the North, and admitted to the peddler selling him the map that he was going to Winterfell, the Northmen around him looking weary, eyeing him up and down more. A stranger in their midst and they don't trust him for a second.

And the looks they were giving his pelt was akin to insult.

It wasn't until he was on the road bright and early the next morning that he learned why, from a traveling merchant.

"They think you are insulting their liege lord," the merchant says as they leave, Solas having a stare down with one of the guards while doing so.

"Do they?" Solas says, finally looking down at the merchant man. "Why?"

The merchant laughs, running his hand over the crest of a deer or perhaps a stag on his person, offering Solas a black toothed smile. "You aren't from around here are you? From Essos?"

Solas shrugs, not caring to give away too much to this stranger. "Beyond Essos, actually."

The man's dark eyes widen. "Ah! Than maybe you don't know! The sigil for the Warden of the North's family is the dire wolf. Sigil for House Stark."

Honestly surprised, Solas blinks a few time, now feeling that the uneasy gaze of the people makes perfect sense now. He's surprised that Jon never said anything to him about it. A bit of warning would have been nice. He didn't mean to come here and insult people.

"I see," Solas says slowly. "I didn't know that."

The merchant laughs. "Figures." He roughly pats Solas on the back, shaking his head. "Good luck if you're heading to Winterfell."

"Why?" He asks, as if he wanted to know, but he has an aching suspicion.

The merchant throws his head back for another laugh. "That's where the Stark's live! And you got the beast of their sigil hung over your shoulders! And no doubt with the fierce loyalty of Northern men, someone has already sent a Raven to alert Lord Stark that you're coming."

Solas sighs, resigned to his fate. He wasn't going to get rid of his pelt, especially now. He would just have to apologize to the Lord Stark and be on his way to look for Jon. Solas had many things to occupy his mind, especially from the swirling energy that was growing beyond Winterfell, once it came into view, that he had a tough time just ignoring like it wasn't happening. He's not sure whether the nagging in the back of his head is because of intrigue - which is very possible - or because of something else but they arrive at Winterfell before he can come to an accurate conclusion one way or another.

And the merchant was right. Before the gates into Winterfell stood a man and a row of guards a few paces behind him. All of them seem to find him immediately in the crowd as they make their way around them, slowing a bit to watch curiously but sharp looks from the guards made it impossible for them to just sit around and gawk. Solas slows to a stop as the last of the travels slip past him, then into Winterfell. Yes, Jon should have told him about the wolves. He will have to speak to him about this next time they speak.

His staff, that he had been doubling as a walking stick, is gripped tightly in his right hand.

The man dressed in heavy pelts and blackened leather with a sword strapped to his side, studies him curiously. His face is lined with years of a hard life, but he's not all that old, especially for a human. Solas can feel the untapped magic coming from him. He's a mage, but Solas doubts he knows how to use his power, just like Jon. He's starting to see a common theme here.

Solas uses his left hand to lift the skull of his pelt off his head and drops it back behind him so they could stare face to face with one another. Solas can imagine what these people are thinking. Not only is he an elf, something none of them have probably seen before, but he's dressed like a barbarian, and he's not wearing a shirt or shoes in this cold.

"Forgive me," Solas says, walking a few paces closer to the Lord so that they may speak comfortably, stopping only when the guards tense up, reaching for their swords. The Lord holds his hand up to halt them and nods for Solas to come a few steps closer. He does and stops a few feet in front of the man. "I don't come from these lands and admittedly was ignorant to the wolf being your House's sigil, Lord Stark, until I was already here. I apologize if I offended you."

"Where did you get it?" The Lord asks, surprising Solas by how innocent the question was. There was no anger on his face, and while his expression was hard, it wasn't mean or angry.

"I have had this pelt with me since I was a boy..." Solas says slowly. "It hunted me in the forest outside my village. I killed it and to honor it, keep it with me always." He reaches up and touches the lower jaw bone hanging around his neck. The Lord of House Stark watches the movement curiously.

"My men feared that this was some sort of declaration against House Stark, you say this is not true?" The Lord asks.

Solas nods. "Yes, Lord Stark. I meant no sort of aggression toward you or your family. I am simply here to look for someone. Not to cause trouble."

The Lord lets out a little sigh. "Forgive my men, sir, for they are still weary from the Greyjoy Rebellion." At Solas's blank expression, he shakes his head, dismissively. "Never mind that. Perhaps I can assist you in finding who you are looking for."

"The time of a Lord shouldn't be wasted on something as simple as helping me find my friend," Solas says, shaking his head.

The Lord opens his mouth when a voice cuts him off.

"Solas!"

The ancient elf peaks around the Northern Lord to see Jon, now years old, maybe ten, rushing past the guards toward him, his dark eyes impossibly dark in the waning light being weighed down by heavy furs to keep his little body warm. Behind him two more boys about his age watch one, curiously, sharing looks with one another but remaining behind the safety of the guards and the walls of Winterfell.

Solas hugs the boy tight, heart filled with joy. A part of him worried deeply that he would come here to find that his little friend had grown old and died long ago. Time had no meaning to him or his people as they were immortal, so it was hard to get into the mindset of judging the days. No doubt Jon is older, a few years having passed since he left the Fade, but Jon was still a young boy.

And after years of separation, they were together again. This time in the real world.


	3. Mages

**Author's Note: Wow! Another chapter is done! So sorry about the long wait! I'm so excited about this story and I love the attention that it's getting so far! Thank you for all of your kind words, they really inspire me! Just know that I am going to be taking a lot of liberties from now on for storylines and expanding on topics for my own benefit, so please don't point it out to me later. XD Let me know what you think, seeing as it's 1:30 at night and I am exhausted! Enjoy!**

**Warnings: Unbeta'd and OOCness.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Word Count: 5,579**

Solas hugs the small ten-year-old boy close as he talks into his ear. "You're here!" Jon says, his voice lifted in excitement. "I went back, you know, to the city. But you weren't there. You're always there, but you weren't this time. You left. But every time I went back you were not there. I wanted to go looking for you. I was so worried about the bad things outside. But you wouldn't come back. No matter how long I waited." Jon pulls back a bit as Solas goes down on one knee in front of the boy and looks up at him. Jon, not ready to completely depart, rests his hand on Solas's shoulder as if he couldn't believe that the elvish man was there.

"You didn't leave, did you?" Solas frowns, resting his staff down onto the hard earth next to him, taking Jon's little hand and resting his over on his knee. In the corner of his eye, he spots a beautiful human woman with dark red hair like fire, stepping up next to some of the guards, placing her hands on the shoulders of one of the boys.

Jon looks away, long black lashes stretching out past the bridge of his curved nose. He doesn't have to answer, though, his actions speak loud enough. Solas may not have seen the boy in two or three years since exiting the Fade, but it's nice to see that some of the little ticks that he has haven't changed. The boy is no doubt older; taller with longer limbs and a longer face. His cheeks are slimming out too, not as much baby fat.

"Jon," Solas says sharply, his eyebrows pulling together, "don't tell me that you left the palace."

"I'm sorry," Jon says softly, looking through his lashes at Solas, ashamed. He doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that Solas wasn't happy with him. Solas wasn't glaring at him, but sharp blue eyes did stare through him.

"Jon, I told you never to leave the castle," Solas says slowly, somehow managing to keep his voice even despite his anger.

The young boy turns gray eyes toward him. "But... I didn't know where you were! I was worried about you..." He studies Solas's face, his other hand, the one not resting on Solas's shoulder, moves to push some of the braids out of the elf's face. "I was worried that the monsters - "

"Demons," Solas interjects. "They aren't monsters, they are spirits and demons, Jon."

"Demons," Jon amends softly. "I was worried that the demons had hurt you."

Solas sighs, reaching up to pet the top of the boy's head. "I thank you for worrying about me, Jon, but you should never have left the castle. It is not safe out in the Fade. Do not leave it again, understood?"

Jon nods. "I didn't leave the city, I promise. I stayed close to the castle."

"Nothing spoke to you? You didn't run into anything?" Solas asks, scanning the body of the boy for any sign of demonic possession, but he doesn't see anything nor does he sense it.

Jon shakes his head. "No, I didn't run into anything. Mother was there, she scared them away."

Over the top of Jon's head, a part of Solas was always watching the Lord of Winterfell and his men. The Lord's entire posture became positively rigid when Jon passed him by, and hearing him say those words, the look that crossed his face piqued Solas's curiosity. Unlike the children, most of the men have darker, tanner faces from years outdoors, and the tan that Lord Stark has pales until there is almost no color left in his skin.

"You remember her?" Solas asks, pulling his eyes back to Jon. "It's been so long, I thought that you had forgotten her."

Jon shrugs his shoulders. "We talk about her a lot, my father and I."

The immediate image that came to Solas's mind was the large white dragon with the pretty purple eyes. Most of the time he hid behind the huge throne, allowing his child to crawl all over his face while humming softly whenever he got too rambunctious. He remembers having gone out to check on his temple when Jon had arrived while he was out. He made it back in time to see Jon's father sitting much like a dog in front of his tiny human son, neck twisted so that he is staring straight down at the boy, humming softly while the boy giggles and runs little four-year-old hands up and down the dragon's large nail, oblivious to the fact that those claws could easily slice through him.

The nail was larger than Jon was.

In all the time he spent around them, mostly just sitting around in the space they occupied while waiting for Jon to come back to them, there was never a peep from the boy's parents. But never once, for a moment, had either of them spoken at all. Their communication with one another has always been in looks and vibrations they give off in the Fade. Solas can get feelings from them but no words, no discernable way for him to understand.

"You spoke to him?" Solas asks, bringing himself back into the moment. He supposed if the dragon spoke to anyone, it would have been his own young.

Jon nods, then, "Oh, well..." he looks over his shoulder at the Lord of Winterfell, who now stands only a foot behind him, dark eyes wide and swimming with confusion and worry, "with my living father, I did."

"Jon..." Lord Stark says softly, looking at the little boy for a moment before Solas, expression hardening with worry and trepidation. "Who are you, stranger?" Mistrust and unease shine in his eyes as the frown on his face becomes more pronounced. "And how do you know my son?"

"Forgive me, my name is Solas," the ancient elf says, tipping his head in greeting. His mind is spinning. He admittedly didn't know everything there was to know about human anatomy, but there isn't a way for there to be two fathers and one mother, is there? Biologically speaking. He's pretty sure it works the same way for humans as it does for elves. So who is the real father? This man, or the dragon? Solas thought he had a good idea of what was going on, but now he's not so sure. Jon doesn't appear to know the difference between the two men. To him, they must both be his father. One in the Fade and one in the waking world.

Solas sense something in the air and the tension in the Lord of Winterfell leads him to believe that there is definitely more going on than he knows.

"Ned," the woman says, giving Solas a weary, mistrusting look, "what is going on?"

"Go inside, Cat," the Lord of Winterfell says, not even looking over his shoulder at her. His eyes are locked onto Solas. The men sense the tension in their lord's voice, and glare at Solas, ready to draw their swords and defend their lord and house if they need to. "Take Theon, Robb, and Jon inside."

"Father..." Jon looks over at the Lord of Winterfell, eyebrows pulling together tightly in worry, "he's my friend. He just got here."

"What does he mean?" the woman asks, walking forward until she is right next to the Lord, her blue eyes burning hotter than veil fire and asks, in a harsh whisper as not to be overheard, even by the men behind her, "Eddard Stark, what did he mean when he said 'living father'?" Lord Stark's eyes close as this horrible look crosses over his face. Worry, fear, tension, agony, and then defeat.

Solas can feel the lie that hangs between them drawing the life out of the Lord of Winterfell. When gray Stark eyes meet the hot blue of the red-haired woman, Solas can see the love and regret in his eyes. Whatever this lie is, he hated having to tell it, and he hated having to tell it to her especially. Their years together must have built an understanding between them in such a way that when their eyes met, she seemed to realize something. Her face goes slack as she studies his, as if unable to understand her own thoughts.

"Lady Catelyn doesn't know about my other father and my mother," Jon says to Solas. Then he turns his eyes to the Lord of Winterfell. "Mother is sad for the pain she brought you, father."

At that moment, Solas felt her; the she-wolf. His eyes draw up to the wall surrounding Winterfell to see her large, imposing figure perched up there, looking down at them. Even in the waning light her fur is sleek black and rolls off her like darkness. The Fade ripples around her as she paces back and forth slowly, eyes locked onto the Warden of the North. Those untrained wouldn't be able to see her, but her presence speaks volumes to Solas. So this is where she went. She latched onto Jon at some point, he suspects, and when he woke up in the physical world, he brought her with, as a Dreamer could. She must have been roaming about like a wolf spirit in the physical world for years now.

That must be why he sometimes goes months in the Fade without seeing her. She's so protective she can't leave her son alone. No matter which world he's in. Yes, Solas had no doubt that she was his mother. Her eyes meet Solas's and she tips her head in greeting, recognition clashing in her dark gray eyes, even in the waning light. She looks down at the Lord of Winterfell, her ears dipping low, as if sad before she turns around and leaps off of the wall and into Winterfell somewhere.

Solas glances down at Jon, to see that his eyes were following her too. Jon finally looks over at Lord Stark, slowly blinking big gray eyes. "Are you mad that I've been talking to mother and father?" Jon looks like a little, wilting flower. His 'living' father definitely means a lot to him. But Solas can't figure out what the problem is between them. Something is going on here, that he's missing, but it seems like years of cultivating this... whatever it is, and they seem to be tearing it apart stitch by stitch in moments.

And the way that Lord Stark is staring at them, he doesn't seem to appreciate it either.

"Ned?" The woman asks slowly. "What is going on?"

* * *

The handful of people that gathered in Ned Stark's study are as follows; Ned Stark; lord of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark; lady of Winterfell, Rodrik Cassel; master-at-arms and loyal knight for House Stark, Maester Luwin; Maester and longtime friend and trusted ally of the Starks, Jon Snow; supposed bastard son of Ned, and Solas; the strange elf that is somehow friends with Jon.

Jon is the only one sitting down, in Ned's chair on the other side of the large desk, looking impossibly small. All of the adults in the room stand around in front of the desk, staring at each other. Solas isn't sure he knows how he got trapped in the middle of this situation, but he's got to wonder if it's entirely Jon's fault or not. He's going to bet the only part of it that's his own fault is that he couldn't leave the little boy alone. Despite what he thought since leaving the Fade, he can't abandon Jon, even though this situation is just getting worse and worse.

"What is going on?" Catelyn asks again, looking over at Ned.

Ned doesn't look like he knows how to answer that. He looks over at Jon as if the answer is floating around the little boy's head. He stares back innocently, not certain he knows what's going on. At least Solas is on the same page as the ten-year-old.

"I suppose I should start, then," Solas says, seeing as no one knows how to address this strange situation that they are in. "My name is Solas, I am an Elf from Thedas."

"Where is Thedas?" Ned asks, seemingly happy that he doesn't have to face his wife yet. She looks at him with a frown but figures that this is going to ultimately lead to the answer to her question so that she can let it go for now. "In Essos?"

Solas shakes his head. "No, it is the continent of Thedas, and it's south of Essos."

"Forgive me," Catelyn says, crossing her hands neatly in front of her, "Ser, but what is an Elf."

"Oh," Solas shakes his head again, "my lady, I am no Ser. I am a mage, not a knight. And I am an Elf. A species that has existed long before humans did. Personally, my lineage isn't all that impressive, but my people have a long, and interesting history. We used to have an Empire that spanned the majority of the world. But now, as far as I've seen my people aren't in Essos or Westeros." He shrugs his shoulders.

The Maester perks up at this, from where he was looking at the map of Essos and Westeros behind Jon's head on the wall, seeing the top of Thedas at the very bottom of the map, over to Solas. "A mage? What is a mage?"

"Solas knows how to do magic!" Jon practically yells, making everyone in the room jump, having forgotten that he was there.

"Yes," Solas says, noting that everyone is looking between the two of them, not sure where to go with this. "Magic isn't in abundance in Westeros, but it is particularly strong in the North and in your family. I am a mage, thus I control magic, as it were." He waves his hands around and gentle embers of fire trickle from his fingers in the air around him before it vanishes.

The immediate imagination was awe, then varying degrees of wonder and fear. Maester Luwin reaches up to touch the chains around his neck, dark eyes wide as he watches the flickering embers sputter out before even hitting the floor. He looks like a million questions just crossed his mind. "Magic? Real magic! Can you do more? How is it done? Are there more like you? Did you say that magic is here in the North?"

Solas doesn't miss a beat. "Yes, it is real magic. I can do plenty more. Magic comes from within and takes years of practice to perfect. And there are plenty of others just like me, not as many as in my childhood, but still a decent amount. And yes, there is magic here in the North. Particularly here." Solas looks over at Ned. "You have strong magic in your blood and it seems to have passed on to your children. At least the boy out there." He nods over to the door, sensing the little magical power beings listening in on the other side of the door.

Catelyn jerks, then stomp across the room and open the door. "Robb Stark!" She swings the door open and reaches out to grab onto her son's arm before he can run away. He looks sheepish when she pulls him into the room. She pauses and peaks out into the hall before closing the door and glares down at her oldest son. "Was Theon with you?" He opens his mouth before she cuts in, "Don't you dare lie to me."

He swallows worriedly. His dark eyes flicker around the room, shrinking when his eyes land on the disapproving look his father is directing toward him. Jon smiles at his brother.

"He's not out there," Robb says, blinking long, thick lashes up at his mother for sympathy and mercy. He hesitated, glancing over at Solas, curiously. "I just wanted to know what was going on."

"By spying?" Catelyn asks, frowning. "That is very dishonest."

Robb looks ashamed, wilting much like Jon did earlier as Catelyn walks him over to his father, her hands on his shoulders to keep him in place. "I'm sorry, mother, father. I didn't mean to be dishonest. I was just worried. You looked so mad, father." He looks over at his father again, sadly. "I'm sorry."

Ned sighs, rubbing at his forehead, as if suddenly tired. "Thank you for worrying about us, Robb, but it's fine." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You don't have to worry. Everything is going to be okay." He hesitates then reaches out and cups his son's cheeks, he offers a small smile for the boy.

Robb smiles back at his father. Then he looks over at Solas, curiously. "Can you really do magic?"

"Robb - " Ned starts but Jon is already jumping in.

"Yes! He can!" Jon bounces out of his seat and runs over to Robb. "Solas has been teaching me the basics, but won't teach me any spells until I was a little older! But I was really young then, so maybe he'll teach both of us!"

"Spells?" Robb echoes, his eyes blown wide. "Like what? What can we do?"

"Fire!" Jon says. "Oh! And protection spells! Shoot lightning from our fingertips!"

Robb's eyes get wider and wider, practically bouncing in excitement. Both boys are jumping up in down, blabbing in excitement at one another as the adults stare on in a mixture of horror and wonder.

"Offensive spells aren't going to be a reality for you for a long time," Solas says, shaking his head. "You will learn the basics and the first spells I will teach you will be either defensive or supplimentive. Throwing fireballs and shooting lightning may come later, but not while you're so young."

"Wait, what are you teaching them? What?" Catelyn asks, shaking her head.

"Nothing for now," Solas says, looking down at the little boy that he's watched grow up for the most part. "It's been a few years since I've seen Jon. And he has significant magical abilities, he has a ways to go before he's ready to be doing anything like that. I am willing to train all the mage children if you would like. At least I'll know that they are being trained properly."

Catelyn looks over at Ned borderline alarmed. "I don't know about this. It sounds very dangerous, and magic hasn't done anyone any good."

Solas frowns at that. "How so? Magic is the foundation in which this world was built upon. From the feel of this place, and your reaction to magic gives me the impression that it has all but been lost here. Make no mistake, Lady Stark, magic isn't something that can be avoided. Especially your son, and Jon. They are both powerful in their magic. They should be properly trained. It would be disastrous, otherwise."

Now even Ned is concerned, eyebrows pulling together tightly as he releases Robb's face. "What do you mean? Is something going to happen to them?"

Solas crosses his arms over his chest. "It's hard to say. I don't believe your son is a Dreamer, as Jon is. But his magical powers will be enough to draw the attention of demons within the Fade. It's best that, at the very least, you allow me to teach them how to protect themselves from possession and attacks within the Fade."

Now all the remaining adults are shifting, alarmed at the prospect of the children being endangered.

"If magic runs in my blood, how come I'm not in danger?" Ned asks, trying to keep as rational as possible. "Or anyone else in my family. I have a brother too. How come he isn't in danger?"

Solas doesn't miss a beat. "My guess is either he isn't magical like you are, or you both are in danger, you just don't realize it. Magic is so stagnant here that the Fade is extraordinarily strong so it is harder for demons and other spirits to interact with your part of the world, but of the limited places I have been here in the North - between White Harbor and here - Winterfell is the weakest point in the Veil. Unfortunately, the more mages brought together the more attention from the Fade you'll get."

"Even if they are untrained?" The Master-at-arms asks, trying to wrap his mind around all of this.

"They are more appealing if they are untrained," Solas says. "But worry not. I have spent a great deal of my life in the Fade and have met many different spirits and demons. I will be able to help them to identify them should they have to, and how to avoid any trouble, if it can be avoided."

There is a beat of silence before Ned asks, "You can see spirits? This Fade place is where you see spirits? Is that how you know about Jon?"

"When we dream we go to the Fade," Solas says easily. "Everyone, mages or not. The Fade is the place our unconscious mind goes as we dream. Most appear in the Fade as wisps of frosty light. They are easy to miss and mostly overlooked by the spirits there because they are so numerous in number and it is difficult to influence someone who isn't as deeply connected to the Fade as someone like myself would be. Mages, however, appear in the Fade like twinkling starlight. They are brighter and attract more attention, which is why having more and more mages gathered together makes the situation harder to ignore for demons and other spirits."

"This Fade place is where people go to dream..." Maester Luwin asks slowly, trying to wrap his mind around all of this, "is also where the dead go when they die? Is that it?"

"Is that where you met Lyanna?" Ned asks suddenly. The kids look confused but Catelyn, Luwin, and Rodrik become rigid, looking over at the Warden of the North with confusion.

"Lyanna? Your sister?" Catelyn asks, and suddenly it all makes sense to Solas. Well, not all of it. Just the connection between Ned and Jon becomes clear.

Solas's narrow blue eyes widen at his realization. "You are Jon's uncle. Not his father. The wolf," he says, shaking his head, "it makes sense now."

Jon's thin dark eyebrows pull together in confusion in tandem with the boy next to him. Both of them utter a high pitched, "What?" that was easily drowned out by Catelyn's sharper one.

"He's your... he's Lyanna's..." Catelyn continues, her own blue eyes widen enough for Solas to fear that they may pop out of her head. She looks down at Jon as if seeing him now in an entirely different light than before. Her surprise quickly fizzles away and a deep-rooted shame takes its place. Her grip on her son's shoulders tighten and the shame colors her face red. "Oh, by the gods..."

"If Robert knew the truth... that Lyanna bore a child..." Ned hesitates, looking down at Jon now with sad eyes before looking between the three other adults in the room besides himself and Solas. "You know what he did - or I suppose, allowed to happen - to Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. I couldn't..." He shakes his head again, rubbing at his forehead, exhausted. "I couldn't let him do that. Not to Lyanna's child. Not to the only piece of my sister left in this world."

Catelyn's shoulders droop as she stares into Ned's eyes, looking tired and defeated. "You lied. He isn't your blood."

Ned's expression hardens, locking eyes with his wife. "He is my blood. He is my son. He was born of my sister and Rhaegar Targaryen, but he is my blood and my son." The boys look back and forth confused, trying to follow along with what's happening.

Those words that once seemed like they brought Catelyn physical pain and sadness, now seems to bring her a mixture of relief and shame. If Solas had to guess, Catelyn Stark must have thought that Jon was born of infidelity on her husband's part and that was probably the reason for Jon's adamant belief that "Lady Stark doesn't like me".

Solas isn't sure how he feels about Catelyn's treatment of Jon, or if he's allowed to feel any sort of way for it, but he's not sure it matters much anymore. It seems like all, or at least most, of her resentment toward him is because of his birth and the circumstances that surrounded it. With that no longer being in question, perhaps the issue has simply solved itself. However, Solas isn't liking the indication that this Robert person is dangerous in regards to Jon and whatever it was that he "allowed" happen to whomever this Prince and Princess where. Especially since it sounds like there is still a tangible connection between the Lord of Winterfell and this Robert person. This leaves a very sour distaste in his mouth. He doesn't care who this person is, he won't allow anyone to harm Jon. No one.

"Jon..." Solas says slowly, drawing the eyes of the other adults back to him, "is a dreamer. He is able to physically manifest in the Fade, which makes him an extraordinary catch for a hungry demon. They would be able to latch onto his soul and he could bring them into the physical world far easier than any other type of mage could. I met Jon in the Fade when he was but a baby. Probably about two or three. He was crying in a nearby palace when I stumbled upon him. His mother and father were standing guard, protecting him in the Fade."

Ned's eyes flash in pain at the mention of Jon's parents. No doubt the mention of his sister who it seems passed shortly after Jon was born. "You saw her? You saw Lyanna?"

Solas sighs. "Unfortunately, the human part of your sister is gone. Her spirits true form awakened and it is all we can interact with now."

Ned looks confused. "What does that mean? What's her spirits true form?"

"That of a she-wolf."

The laugh that escapes him makes all the inhabitants in the room jump in surprise. None of them had expected that, or the softest, most loving expression that crosses his face at that. "I bet," he says mirthfully. "She was always a she-wolf." Then with a more somber expression, he asks, "Does that mean that Rhaegar was there too?"

"I'm assuming that is Jon's father?" Solas asks slowly, hoping that he's getting all these names right. Ned nods. "Yes, he was there. His human form was also gone, but his spirits true form was there to help the she-wolf - Lyanna - in protecting him."

Ned shakes his head slowly. "Let me guess; a dragon?"

Now Solas is shocked. "Yes. How did you know?"

Ned waves the question away. "Something tells me that you are going to be spending a lot of time with us. That part will become clear soon enough, I think. So they are in this place whenever Jon sleeps, protecting him?"

"Well, my father is," Jon says, scratching at the back of his messy black curls. "Mother came with me to Winterfell."

Everyone's eyes bug out at that before they are all talking at once and looking at Solas as their magical expert. Their concern and awe are written across their faces. Solas has to hold up a hand to silence all of them at once.

"I saw her just becoming into Winterfell. That is what I was worried about with Jon, yet Lyanna seems to be doing just fine. She didn't seem like she was in any trouble," Solas shrugs. "Although it's not a good idea for a spirit to be outside the Fade for too long. I'm not sure what she's doing, but she should return as soon as she can. No doubt she's using Jon to bounce back and forth between the Fade and the physical world, the problem is that Jon's power is still unstable. He doesn't go to the Fade every night as he should, or at least he did the last time I saw him, which means she's being held together here by her will alone and that's dangerous for a spirit."

"Isn't this Fade place where you are supposed to go when you sleep?" Luwin asks, confused. "If he's not going there when he sleeps, then where does he go?"

Solas considers how to answer this. "He is still going to the Fade, but he's not using his powers as a Dreamer, so he's not manifesting right away. My guess is she is using that to travel. It takes a lot of energy to physically pass through the Veil, and Lyanna is using Jon's inborn ability to look out for him in the physical world."

"Will she be okay?" Ned asks, worried.

Solas nods. "Yes, I believe so. Thankfully, I can bring her back if she needs it but I won't allow her to latch onto me and come back and forth and I suggest that Jon learn to deny her as well. She isn't thinking like a human any longer. She's thinking like a mother wolf. Jon is her pup and she's protecting him, but she can't be here in the physical world. It's not safe, or natural for her anymore. She has to remain in the Fade."

Ned looks sad by that. "Is that what is best for her?"

Solas nods. "It is." The Lord of Winterfell seems reluctant but accepts that Solas seems to know what he's talking about.

The Warden of the North lets out a long, deep sigh before lowering down to a knee in front of Jon Snow and Robb Stark, reaching out to take a hand from each boy. They both stare down at him with rapt attention, hanging on his every word. "Listen to me closely, boys. What you have heard today, about Jon and Lyanna and all of that, cannot be uttered to another. Jon would be in grave danger is anyone knew, do you understand?" Ned asks, sparing a glance up at Luwin and Rodrik, both of which nod their heads in unison with the boys. "Utter not a word to a soul. Not even your siblings. Never."

He gives both boys a nice hard stare, to which both met back evenly with a soft, "Yes, father." Ned smiles sadly, squeezing both of their hands.

There is a long moment of silence where no one says anything. This was a lot of information for everyone to digest. Solas could see everyone was lost to their thoughts, as he was lost to his before Jon's soft voice draws him back to the present, "Solas?"

"Yes, Jon?"

"Are you going to stay here?" Jon looks up at the elf with purple ringed gray eyes.

Solas wasn't sure if he would be allowed. They had yet to get to that part of the discussion. "I suppose I would like to if Lord Stark would allow it. I want to keep an eye on you."

Jon smiles at him before looking down at Ned again. "Father?"

Ned's smile sent back up at Jon is tender and loving, already knowing what his nephew was going to say. "Jon?"

"Can Solas stay? I promise I won't ask for anything else again. He's my friend and it's been such a long time since I've last seen him."

Ned squeezes Jon's hand lovingly before he stands up and releases both the boys. "Solas?"

The elf tilts his head to the side. "Lord Stark?"

"Can you teach them to protect themselves? From those demon-things, I mean. I don't know about throwing fire or any of that, but some way to keep them safe in that place I can't protect them?" He asks.

Solas nods. "Certainly. I came here to be with Jon and to help him train. I do not mind teaching your other children as well. Knowledge is meant to be shared after all, and we enrich our lives by experiencing all that we can. It would be my honor." He tips his head, respectfully.

"Thank you," Ned says before holding out his hand for Solas to take, and after a beat, he does and they shake on it. "Welcome to Winterfell, Solas."


	4. Plans

**Author's Note: I am sorry for the long wait! Thank you, everyone, for your support so far! I just love hearing what you have to say, it really does help urge me on. I'm happy that you guys are starting to enjoy it and I hope that you continue to enjoy it! Thank you for taking the time to chime in! There is a little bit of a time jump as things are starting to get interesting. I hope the characters aren't too crazy OOCness. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

**Warnings: Nothing much. OOCness, Unbeta'd.**

**Word Count: 5,071**

Jon and Robb were more than happy to show Solas around Winterfell. They showed him everything that could ever possibly be mentioned. Anything he could ever need to go to for whatever reason, he was shown day one. It was a very fast tour, but Solas kept up with their quick pace as they only had so much time to roam around before they would be called back to the castle for dinner time and would have to focus on their evening studies before going to bed. Solas humored the boys, asking lots of questions about what specific places meant and when he would use them.

He wasn't sure he was ever going to need to know that the pathway from the storehouse to the smith's shop bypasses where they usually store the fresh fruits before they are moved into the storehouse, but it was nice to be clued in. Just in case.

The place that really caught Solas's attention was the Godswood. He felt the magical energy radiating from the trees there and it reminded him of his homeland. The trees were imbued with ancient energy that passed through the Veil a long time after it was put up and has since permeated the land. Solas isn't sure how far south or north it goes, but here and all the way from White Harbour to Winterfell, Solas has felt the magic in these trees. And they treat the Godswood as sacred. Or at least they seem to cherish it enough to preserve it.

Solas is starting to suspect that ancient Starks may have had a better idea of the magic that surrounded them and held a healthy respect for it, but over the years the stories may have either been twisted far enough from the truth, or it was forgotten altogether. Either way, Solas is enjoying the nods to the magic that surround Winterfell, even if the people don't seem to realize it. Or have forgotten their true meaning.

Jon and Robb eventually brought him back to the castle and introduced him to their little siblings - well, Robb's siblings, Jon's cousins.

The first was Sansa Stark. Now she must have a lot of her mother's blood in her, with hair like orange fire. Her mother's hair was more auburn, but the similarities weren't lost on him. Robb's hair had a touch of red to it, making it look brown but he could see the red in the proper lighting. Sansa had the pretty blue eyes of her mother, same as Robb. She's six years old now and still growing into herself, but already learning to be a proper little lady. She pulls up the hem of her dress and offers a curtsy to the ancient elf in greeting with a soft, "ser."

"I'm am no ser, little lady Stark," Solas says, resting his cheek against the side of his staff and looking down at the little girl. "My name is Solas. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Sansa offers a sweet little smile, innocent and kind. "Pleasure, my lord. I am Sansa Stark, eldest daughter to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."

"My," Solas says, "so proper. She's shown you boys up in three sentences."

Jon rolls his eyes. "You don't have to be so formal, Sansa. Solas is my friend and father said that he can stay here, with us. He's going to become a new teacher for us." He looks excited at the prospect of being able to continue his training after such a long reprieve from it. Solas also suspects - or hopes - that the boy just missed spending time with him. No doubt he's also interested in showing off to his siblings what Solas can do.

"We are getting a new teacher?" Sansa asks, blue eyes wide. "Why?"

"Solas is going to teach us about magic!" Jon says, smiling excitedly.

Blue eyes widen further. "Magic?" Sansa gasps.

Robb comes bouncing into the room with a toddler in his arms, a little girl on his heels and his parents not far behind. Robb walks right up to Solas and holds the baby toward him a bit, grinning proudly, "This is my baby brother, Bran. Short for Brandon. Like I'm Robb, short for Robert. But he's only three right now, so he's not really going to be able to take lessons. But this is my youngest sister, Arya. She's four."

Bran Stark, while three years of age was showing more signs of his father's blood than his mother's. His hair was darker, but there was still a touch of red to it that must come from his mother, but a set of blackened eyes stare back at him, innocent and curious. His cheeks were puffy and rosy and Solas honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a child so young, aside from Jon.

Elves of his time were immortal and therefore reproduced very slowly. The birthrate of Elves was so low as to not overpopulate the world. It was a rare sight to see anyone with siblings, especially with more than one other. Then again, humans were much shorter-lived than elves and reproduced quicker, so there was that. But Solas definitely didn't know what it was like to be around so many siblings - especially since he didn't have any himself.

Well, Solas didn't have any parents either. He was an orphan. For as long as he can remember. But it would have been nice if he could have had someone of his own to always have at his side. A family that would never leave him. It's why Solas loved spirits so much. They don't die as easily as the living do, and if he was good enough friends with them, they would lead him all around the Fade whenever he dreamed, so he was never alone. It was a nice reprieve from usually always being alone.

And Arya Stark, four years old and already staring up at Solas as if she knew everything there was to know. Her dark hair was pulled back into what was probably once a neat knot on the back of her head now had loose strands framing her face, a stark juxtaposition to her sister, who looked dutiful and refined, not a hair out of place. Ayra's hair was also a dark brown to match her eyes, seeming to have almost all of Eddard Stark's features. She looked almost nothing like Catelyn aside from the shape of her eyes which all of the Stark children seem to share.

Jon puts his hands on Arya's shoulders and both of them smile at him, Arya completely unafraid. So this was the little girl that Jon adored. He could see why. There was a fire in her little dark eyes that threatened to burn everything away.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, little lords and ladies." Solas tips his head again, offering a small smile.

"Do they all have it?" Catelyn asks, pulling Solas's blue eyes over to her. "The magic, I mean. Like Ned? Like Robb and Jon?"

Solas nods. "Yes, Lady Catelyn. All of your children have powerful magic flowing through their veins. Even those so young as Arya and Bran, although they won't be able to start practicing for a few years yet, they are already showing signs of magical potential."

Catelyn doesn't look as though she knows how to feel, relieved or terrified.

"Do not worry," Solas says, softly, empathizing with the worried mother. It wasn't common in his past to know people without magic, although he did know some, but he had met human mothers before, and they cared deeply for their children. Solas supposed all mothers would, but not having much of a reference for that, he can't comment. But he understands how confusing and worrisome it must be to not have magic, live in a land where magic is weak, and suddenly have children powerful in magic that could be in danger of entities that she has no means of protecting them from.

"It is hard not to," Catelyn says plainly, taking Bran from Robb and holding him to her chest. "I don't want anything to happen to my children."

"That is why I shall teach them to protect themselves and each other," Solas says easily. "Magic is a powerful tool, but it comes with great responsibility. In time, you will see, I'm sure. Your children will be better off knowing how to control their magic, then not."

* * *

"Come now, boys, it is almost time for your sword lessons," Solas says, stalking around the two oldest boys in the Stark family. He watches as twigs and leaves float around them, carried by their magic, whisps of green energy keeping them afloat.

"We almost got it, Solas," Jon says, dark eyes focusing hard on the sticks and leaves he's moving.

"Almost there..." Robb says slowly before both boys combined the two sets and they spin around one another before twisting and turning until a shape comes from it, looking almost like a person. It's barely holding together and the smallest movements are jerky and mismatched, but Solas is impressed that they were able to intertwine their magic at all. Especially considering that it's an advanced ability that they're playing around with. Both boys grin happily at it, before letting the leaves and sticks go.

Solas smiles, amused and also proud. "I am impressed, boys. You are picking up the small details well." He links his hands behind his back and walks around the boys until he's standing in front of them. "You two are strong, and I am confident that you will be able to unleash powerful spells, but you must also focus on the smaller, more controlled movements as well. It won't always be explosions and waves of energy, sometimes it'll be the small moves. And the two of you are getting really good at it."

Magic wraps around the sticks and leaves again, pulling them up into the air and molding it into the shape of a person. The movements are smooth and practiced. They wave their hand and spin around in the air, mesmerizing the boys in front of them.

Solas laughs, eyes crinkling. "But not as good as Sansa is, unfortunately."

Both boys twist around to see Sansa and Arya standing in the doorway with Ser Rodrick right behind them, Sansa's hand spinning around in control of the sticks-and-leaves person. Arya is grinning broadly at her eight-year-old sister. Ser Rodrick looks amused now, whereas just last year, he was still overly cautious and mistrusting of things moving around with almost invisible power. Ser Rodrick has since taught himself - with Solas's help - to be able to catch the subtle movements of magic.

"As a knight of House Stark it is my duty to be able to hold off against anything, and that starts with being able to see it coming," he had explained to Solas. The ancient mage hadn't needed an explanation to help him, but he appreciated being clued in on the why behind it.

"Sansa, knock it off," Robb snaps, crossing his arms over his chest in playful annoyance, but Solas can sense the pride coming from the oldest of the Stark children. "Showing off isn't becoming of a lady."

"And being a sore loser isn't becoming of a lord," Sansa claps back quickly, grinning playfully. Robb fights a grin, shaking his head.

"Fine," Robb says, sparing a glance over at Jon, who shrugs his shoulders, smiling back, and both bow their heads, "we yield to you, Lady Stark. Have mercy on us unworthy young lords before your greatness."

Sansa smiles, pleased and Arya claps in excitement while Ser Rodrick shakes his head, bemused. "It's our turn to practice, brothers! Our time with the Septa is finished! Go, now!" Arya waves her hands around dismissing them. This is the only time of day in which Arya is quick to dismiss her loving older cousin as if he was in her way.

Jon laughs, sparing a look over at Robb before nodding. "I suppose it is our time, then." He turns, making his way over to Bran, who was still reading about the history of magic that Solas had written specifically for the people of the North - his students. He leans down and kisses the top of Bran's head before waving to Solas and leaving. Robb squeezes his little brother's shoulders and then pets his head.

"Enjoy double lessons while you have them, Bran," Robb says, forlorn before laughing and chasing after his twelve-year-old cousin.

"You're breaking Ser Rodrick's heart," Sansa says, as he races past, making him laugh more before vanishing down the hall. The Knight of house Stark shakes his head, amused before following after the two boys to the training yard to start their training for the day.

Arya goes barreling past her sister and lands right in front of Solas, dark eyes eager and shining as she stares up at him. "What are we going to learn how to do today, Solas? Are we going to fly? Throw fireballs?" Her little hands twist up in her dress, trying to contain her excitement. Her entire body shakes as she stares up at Solas.

Sansa shakes her head, frowning, as she walks into the room and closes the door behind herself. "Solas isn't going to teach us anything like that."

Arya pouts, her shoulders slumping.

Solas smiles, leading both the girls over to the space cleared out in the center of the room for practice. He can't believe it's already been two years since he came to Winterfell. It was odd at first, trying to integrate with humans. But he did look enough human, except for his ears and his sharper features. He definitely doesn't look like a man of the North, but they are growing accustomed to him. With the Starks at his back, vouching for him, the people were quick to warm up to him. Their mannerisms were crisp and clear cut, but they were good, honest people.

Solas felt like he was becoming more and more like family. It took Catelyn and Ned some time, but the kids were quick to take to him and Solas liked being surrounded by so many children eager and willing to learn from him.

He was even blessed with meeting the newest addition to the Stark family the night that he was born. Little lord Rickon Stark. He's still just a baby for now, but with him and all the other Stark children - including Jon - Solas has been able to see as time passes. He feels as though only a blink of an eye has passed, but he knows that isn't true as the children grow before him. They are a good indicator of such.

"Are you going to show us your Fade ability?" Arya asks, clapping her hands excitedly.

Solas tilts his head. "Fade ability?" He tries to think of what he's shown the children but isn't sure he's done any of his true Fade magic. No, the only one of the children who has been exposed to Fade magic is Jon, and that is in Solas's efforts to teach him how to control his Dreamer abilities. Which isn't going so well. They have a long way.

Bran chimes in, finally turning away from the book he hands clenched in his hands. "Yes, Solas, the one where you create green light!"

"Yes, yes!" Arya exclaims, bouncing up and down. "You would vanish into it."

Solas blinks a few times, before narrowing his eyes slightly. "Ah, you mean when I enter into the Fade. That isn't a skill I will teach you yet. I need the help of my orb to do that."

"Your magical focal," Arya gasps, brown eyes wide.

"Foci," Solas corrects. "My magical foci." He smooths out his tunic a bit before lacing his fingers together behind his back. "And you needn't worry about that for now, Lady Arya. For now, as your brothers do, you should work on control. Sansa is ready to move on, you are not." Sansa smiles, pleased while Ayra pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. "And Bran, you need to keep reading," Solas says, turning sharp blue eyes to the youngest in the room. Like his older sister, Bran pouts and turns away, but not before sharing a look with Arya.

Sansa rolls her pretty blue eyes at her two little siblings before looking over at Solas, her own excitement playing across her face. "What do I get to learn today, Solas?"

Solas waves for her to come over to the desk next to Bran. "I'll have you read up about supplementary spells while I get your sister ready and then we will learn about enhancements."

"But I want to learn about that too..." Arya says softly, frowning.

"You need more practice," Sansa says easily, taking the new book from Solas and sitting down next to Bran. "Maybe if you spent more time focusing on growing as both a mage and a lady, you would be able to move on. The Septa is going to tan your hide when she finds you for skipping out today."

"Soon," Solas promises. "You are very talented, Arya. In time you will excel too. Be patient."

* * *

"Jon?"

The boy with purple ringed eyes glances up from where he was stacking the swords up from training that day. He smiles at Arya standing in the doorway to the shed. He can hear Theon and Robb going at it outside, pushing each other around and jesting about being able to best one another in a bout of sword skills. Jon rolls his eyes at them with a little shake of his head before offering a smile to his sister.

"Hello Arya," Jon says. "How was practice today? Did you learn something new?"

Arya nods. "I think I got a little bit better at controlling smaller objects, but I'm not as good as Sansa." She kicks at the ground with the toe of her boot, walking into the shed, sparing a curious glance at all the swords and shields hanging up around them. She reaches out and lets the tips of her little fingers touch the smooth steal of one of the blades.

"That's good," Jon says, tilting his head slightly. "And don't touch that. Lady Stark will have my head if she realizes that I let you play around with a sword at six years old."

"I'm learning how to shoot fireballs, what's wrong with swords?" Ayra asks. "And I'm almost seven."

Jon gives her a look. "Are you really learning how to shoot fireballs?" He already knows the answer, but he wants her to say it anyway.

Arya avoids his eyes. "No."

Jon gives her a thin smile. "That's why. And don't worry about Sansa. She's better at it than we are too." He shrugs his shoulders. "She has better control than any of us do. It's okay. Everyone has their skills. We just have to keep practicing and we'll get there." He doesn't seem too bothered, which is just like Jon. He accepts that he will get better so long as he keeps practicing, but Jon is dedicated and patient like that.

"Can you tell me about it again, Jon?" Arya asks, not interested in being taught another lesson.

Jon blinks a few times, turning to make sure that everything was in the right place before nodding for Arya to leave and following her out of the shed. "What do you mean, Arya?"

She takes his hand while they walk, watching as the people walk about around them, talking and going about their day. It's early evening now and everyone is getting ready for the end of their day so they're finishing up anything else that needed to be done or shouldn't be held off until tomorrow. Jon spots both Robb and Theon already heading into the castle for the night, pushing and shoving each other along the way.

Theon wasn't a mage, as they were. He didn't have magic in him so he wasn't able to train with them, but last year Lord Stark took pity on him and told him the truth. He saw Theon as another of his sons and felt bad for all of them having to lie to him and somehow dance around his curiosity at being left out through parts of the day. Although, he has been able to spend more time with Ser Rodrick one-on-one, which is indeed helping him with his swordsmanship. But no doubt, in some ways, he feels left out as he is the only of the children that can't do anything. Well, Rickon too, but he's just a baby but Solas has already assured them that he would have magic too.

So whenever he's free, Robb spends his time with Theon to help make him feel less left out. Jon feels bad and tries to help out too, but Theon... well, sometimes, he was exhausting. Robb never seemed to mind so Jon is content with letting his brother handle the ward of the Stark House.

"About your powers. As a Dreamer, I mean." Arya's voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

Jon gives her a curious look. "I don't know what more I can tell you, Arya. Sometimes, when I dream, I enter into the Fade in a physical form. I can then interact with the Fade around me in ways that most cannot. But I don't have control over it, and the ability itself is dangerous."

Arya waves the hand around that isn't wrapped up in Jon's. "No, not about that. I mean, tell me more what it's like there?"

"The Fade is... hard to describe if you haven't been there," Jon says slowly. "It's a place entirely of magic. Spirits there control the realm and bend it to their will. In the Fade, Spirit can do whatever they want. Most of the time, they spend it wandering about and doing their own thing. Some powerful Spirits can create separate sections of the Fade called Domains. In these Domains, they hold almost complete control. Everything there is unnatural because nothing there has to obey the laws we humans do."

"Like what?"

"Like..." Jon tries to think of an example that wouldn't scare his sister. He could talk all day about the demons he had seen doing battle against his mother in the Fade - both before and after Solas made her go back and taught Jon how to keep her from latching onto him. She wasn't happy about it, but then again, she couldn't speak or otherwise show a lot of emotions and she always came to him when he went into the Fade so surely she wasn't too mad.

But anyway, he remembers clearly about two months again. He was half asleep when he felt the pull into the Fade. He has been learning to detect this feeling and is at least getting a bit of warning when his powers are acting up - not that he's able to do anything about it yet. Being able to recognize the feeling was the first step and he was finally starting to pick up on it.

So he felt himself be pulled into the Fade and awoke somewhere outside of the Palace, in the streets surrounding it. The darkness that permeated that place was clawing away at his heels but he shook it off. That's when he heard it, the sloth demon.

"Surely you must be tired of it all, little Dreamer?"

"What?" Jon turned to the creature, feeling the malice dripping from every aspect of it; goopy blackened body, blazing reddish-purple light in the center of its face, and even its voice.

But with that malice is a sweet whisper, bored and taunting. "It must be so exhausting all the time, little Dreamer, to be continuously pulled back and forth between the Veil. I envy your constitution. Don't you want to be released from it all?"

Jon shook slightly, never having come across a demon before now. At least, none that he remembered. "No, I don't. I'm going home now."

"Home?" The demon echoed. "You cannot go home yet. You just got here. You will use up all your energy at this rate."

Jon wasn't fooled by its half-hearted concern. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

It tilted its head in mocking worry as its power stretches out around them. From what Jon remembered from Solas, Sloth demons tended to keep to themselves. They opted not to fight if they could avoid it, but they were like any other demon out there - they couldn't ignore an easy ticket out of the Fade. Or a powerful enough mage to satiate their hunger for power, even if it is only momentary relief.

"Oh, but I am concerned." Suddenly, its unnatural body twisted like a snake until it was directly in front of him, standing at well over six feet, dwarfing the young boy in front of it. Its power stretched out, further and further until the area around them started to look strange, no longer looking like the streets he was used to, but appeared to be a palace of a different kind. It wasn't the Palace he was used to either. There were banners hanging from the wall that looked like the sun with bloodied prints across it.

Frightened, not understanding what was happening at the time, Jon turned and started to run away. He felt like his limbs were stuck in the mud as the magic of the demon wrapped around him, pulling him further into this place. He screamed, terror coursing through him like ice in his veins.

And then she came.

His mother launched herself off of the nearby building and tackled the demon to the ground, surprising them both. In moments she was ripping and tearing into the demon without mercy. Her teeth were bright and flashing and every whip of her tail seemed to push the image away further and further. The demon finally managed to free itself and flee into the shifting image before all of that vanished.

Jon sat crying on the ground as his mother trotted up to him, whining softly. She was hurt, he could tell, but instead of bleeding blood, her wounds poured out energy into the Fade. The magic of her soul, he later learned. She curled around him and licked his face as if to ease his fears. He buried his face into her pitch-black fur and cried until Solas came to him and pulled him out of the Fade.

Jon later learned that the image he was seeing was the sloth demon pulling him into its domain. If it had managed it, Solas grimly reported, "It would be impossible for you to have awakened on your own. That demon would have devoured your soul."

Jon is a lot more careful when he awakens in the Fade, especially when he isn't in the Palace when he does. Thankfully there hasn't been a repeat and Jon's mother was fine, but he never forgot that feeling. He knows it's foolish but he hopes that his siblings never have to feel that as he had. Never.

"I don't know what to say," Jon admits, pulling out of the memory and back into the present. "In the Fade, something that shouldn't be... like rocks! Yes, rocks! In the distance, you can see rocks the size of mountains floating high in the sky!"

Arya's eyes widen greatly, her grip on his hand tightening as she bounces up and down excitedly. "Oh! I want to go! I want to see!"

Jon smiles down at her, giving her hand a little squeeze in return. "Maybe someday you'll get to see it."

Arya's excitement turns into a pout. "But I want to see it now."

"You would either need to be a Dreamer, as I am or have something like Solas's foci to be able to just walk into the Fade," Jon says, casting her a sideways look. "And since you don't have a foci and you aren't a Dreamer as far as we know, you're just going to have to wait until Solas teaches you something or... well, I don't know." He shrugs his shoulders. "Be patient. Besides, technically, you go to the Fade every night when you sleep."

Arya looks disinterested in that. "Yeah, but I don't remember anything. Not really. And there are no floating rocks in my dreams."

"Maybe tonight there will be some," Jon teases.

He expected Arya to pout again, or glare up at him and give a snippy remark, but instead, she looks curious, thoughtful even. Jon watches in real-time as her mind starts to stitch something together. Her dark eyes dart around for a moment, working her way through a problem in her head before she looks up at Jon with a smile that leaves him feeling uncomfortably on edge.

"I'm going to go play with Bran before dinner, okay?"

Jon nods slowly, wondering what the little girl could be up to. "Are you alright, Arya?"

She grins, nodding confidently with a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. "Yes! Goodbye Jon! We'll see you at dinner!" With that, she releases his hand and runs off in search of her little brother, half-hazardously remembering to pick up the bottom of her dress after she nearly tripped over it, not at all caring the bottom was turning brown from the dirt and mud.

Jon looks after her, having a bad feeling about this.


End file.
